


the whirligig of time

by Lizzen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Multiverse, Pining, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: Post-Avengers Endgame.“Not without you,” Bucky had once said. “--until the end of the line,” Steve had once said. A promise and reality are two very separate things.





	the whirligig of time

**Author's Note:**

> Hee hee hee.  
> & thx to th_esaurus <3

\--you're taking all the stupid with you.

 

 

*  
His farm in Wakanda is in total disarray and the goats have gone wild. Five years have taken a toll. _Good_ , he thinks. He needs this, needs to put both hands to good use. Needs to do things, not feel them. The sun is bright on his face, and he gets to work. 

*  
A man of the border tribe comes to him with his three sons to help for a few days with the land, to corral the goats, to milk them. He tells him: “your friends returned my children, this is my thanks.” Bucky nods, grateful, and the man raises his hand. Touches the metal of his shoulder. “The vanished are precious.”

Bucky considers this. Considers those who would have loved him, thought him precious. There is an unkindness that surges into his heart. The feeling is like a cancer, an ugly vile thing, and he must wipe it out. Must not feel any of it, feel nothing. He survived, the war is over. That’s the end of it. 

And he rises to his full height. “So they are.”

*  
He dreams of Steve that night. It’s not an unusual experience, dreaming of Steve. It’s just--

It’s a dream that leaves him hard and wanting in the morning. Dissatisfaction is like a thousand cuts of a dull knife. Tolerable yet enduring. He takes his dick in his hand and in a few brutal moments, bliss shatters through him. And then it’s done, and it’s time to rise. 

*  
Shuri visits him often, plays with the goats and tinkers with his arm. He’s given up hope of asking her to remove it. “We may need you again one day,” she says with a knowing smile. “We need your eyes.”

He stares at her, knows every possible way he could take her life in under 60 seconds with any number of objects in arm’s length, or with his bare hands, his body. He knows his value. 

“I’m done fighting other men’s wars,” he says quietly. 

“Mmm,” she says, light as a feather.

*  
Bucky fought on Wakandan soil and lost. He fought and he lost. He knew he was dying, he looked into Steve’s eyes and saw in Steve’s face that he must be dying. He looked into Steve’s eyes and knew that, in that moment, Steve loved him more than anything. More than ever. More than there are stars in the sky or drops in the ocean. He knew he would die and Steve would avenge him. 

And when he woke, when he got on two feet and felt life surging through his veins, when he fought in a warzone unlike any other and destroyed evil, when he finally looked in Steve’s eyes again, he knew this:

Steve was all wrong. Steve wasn’t _Steve_. He was still radiant, still brave, still stupid, still incandescent, still brilliant, still the love of Bucky’s life, but-- something about five years time changed him, changed everything.

He fought and he lost.

*  
It was the day of the funeral, the day-- it was--

Steve said: “I’m going to go back.”  
Steve said: “I’m going to complete the mission.”  
Steve said: “And I’m going to go _back_.”

There was something almost unhinged in his look, as if daring Bucky to challenge him. And there was-- there was a challenge on Bucky’s lips ( _choose me_ ) but he was too much a coward to say it. 

Bucky said: “You gotta do what’s right.”

*  
( _choose me, please_ ) 

*  
Shuri’s sipping a cup of tea when he arrives home, late after a long run, and she raises her eyebrows. “He’s here, you know,” she says. “He’s at the capital. He’d like to see you.” 

Bucky turns away from her; an unkindness, a protection. He’s only seen Steve, this calm complete Steve, once by the lake with his shield and his wedding ring and his sense of peace. They barely spoke then, and Bucky has ignored his messages ever since. “You understand that he left. He left me. I won’t--”

“I don’t even attempt to understand you, either of you,” she says. “But I do want you to be happy.”

“There are no happy endings for people like me,” he says.

“I chose the wrong word,” she says and he hears her put the cup on the table. “I want you to heal.” 

He looks at her then; her, the woman who healed his body and broken mind. “You must know that he’s not just lived a life. He’s lived several lives. You know the serum doesn’t let him age like us. He’s had a life, a long one, several lifetimes, I don’t even know how long he’s lived. And he lived without me. He chose.” 

She nods. “I have considered this. It is impossible to say how old he is now, and he’s of no mind to tell us.”

This interests him. “He hasn’t--”

“He hasn’t talked to any of us. Not about where he’s been, what he’s done.” She stands. “But he wants to talk to you.”

“I’m not--” he breathes in, holds it, and breathes out. “I’m not here to help him heal. I’m not here to be his anchor or his crutch. I’m done. I can’t take it, I don’t want it, I--”

“You don’t want him?” Shuri says, her eyes so bright. 

Bucky stares at her until he can’t, until he has to look away. “I can’t.”

He listens to her breathing, slow and steady before: “You will.”

*  
He dreams of Steve that night. It’s not an unusual experience, dreaming of Steve. It’s just--

It’s Pierce again, it’s Hydra, and it is pain, and it is purpose. Pierce pats his face like a lover, looks fond, looks familiar. It’s the sixties and someone needs to be murdered and the target looks exactly like Steve and his finger pulls the trigger. And Steve says, “I had to do what was right.” And his finger pulls the trigger again, and again, and again. 

*  
He spends hours in the lake, washing first and then floating. Staring up at the sky and dulling out every emotion, refusing to feel anything. Just listening to his breath; in and out and in and --

“Buck,” he hears and he’s drowning in every possible way.

It’s worse when two arms grip him tight, pull him up. It’s worse when he looks into Steve’s eyes and recognizes him completely. What was lost-- what was missing-- _god_. “Why?” he says, trembling. 

He says, “I need you to know where I’ve been, what I’ve done.”

“Why?” Bucky repeats, realizing he’s being held, and held tight. 

It’s a searing silence before: “Because not telling you is killing me.” Softly said, gently said. 

Fear surges inside of him, and he buckles against Steve’s grip. “What if I don’t want you to tell me, what if--”

“Do you trust me?,” Steve says suddenly, and it’s like a hand squeezes his heart. 

“I did,” Bucky says, cruel. And then a moment passes, and another, and another, and then: “I do.”

When Steve smiles, it’s old and it’s wise and it’s not exactly what Bucky knows, but it’s comforting and it’s Steve, it really is Steve. And those arms, not quite wasted with age, pull him closer and hold him in the water. Steve fully dressed, Bucky without a stitch. It’s all so strange, and it’s not what he’s used to, and it’s a shock to the system, and Bucky gasps out a sob. 

“Then trust me, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> A snippet from ch2 & the POV switch:
> 
>  
> 
> _After, he finds her at the window nursing a cup of tea, long cold. “He’s out there,” she says quietly. “He needs us.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _He opens his mouth. “Who?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _She turns. “Oh, Steve.”_


End file.
